Reflection
by TheWitch'sCat
Summary: "Suddenly, McGonagall's words from several weeks previous came back to him, 'I wonder why you find her so off-putting, Professor Snape? For all practical purposes, she is your reflection. Metaphorically, of course.'" A troubled romance. Basically Harry Potter, Wicked, some Mary Poppins and other magical worlds all gloriously playing with one another.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is something that's been stewing in me for a while. This is a piece of what might be a bigger work, and I like to call it my Uber-Crossover. I've thrown around the idea of mixing all of my favorite magical worlds into one, and now I'm really thinking of doing it. And this is a piece from somewhere in the middle of the story. It's Wicked crossed with Harry Potter, with a generous splash of Mary Poppins, and all kinds of other magical character references. Because...what if they really were all connected?**

**Notes...this is obviously not canon in any of these cases, but it's meant to be almost-canon. My goal is always to keep the characters true to themselves, but tell a different story. As far as Wicked goes, this is mostly bookverse, but my Glinda is musicalverse, because musicalverse Glinda is so much fun. :-)**

**Let me know your thoughts. I'm not really a review whore, but before I embark on something this big I'd like to know there's interest. It will take me some time to put the story together and the bigger work will be posted as a separate story. This is just a oneshot of an idea, for now. Enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Reflection<strong>

He sat back in the heavy, wooden chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles and scanning the dark room with a menacing stare. He'd left the robes behind, as was usual when venturing into the Muggle world. Still, he wore his dark trousers and dark coat buttoned carefully to the neck. He knew he stood out, regardless of his efforts to blend in with the other patrons in the boisterous pub. He knew, as he raked his hand through his ink-black hair, that his presence caused even Muggles to feel as though they should run. Whether they sensed the strength of his magic or his dislike for most of humanity, he didn't care. As long as they stayed away, he was satisfied.

A booming voice cut into his thoughts as someone clapped him on the back and exclaimed, "Severus!"

He turned to see a tall, golden-haired man towering over him in a suit that was ridiculously fuchsia. Gilderoy Lockhart smiled down at him with obscenely white teeth and impossibly blue eyes.

_Bloody Hell,_ were the only words that came to mind.

Having agreed to this meeting, however, Severus stood and gave an obliging handshake, "Had all those memories of other wizards' exploits restored, did you?" he snarked with ease.

"What? I can't imagine what you mean," Lockhart gave him a wide-eyed look, "Perhaps you've taken a bit of Forgetfulness Potion, because I clearly state on page two thirty-eight of my book…"

Severus walked away, leaving Lockhart talking to himself. He decided he should be drinking after all.

He had just procured a dark bourbon when he heard McGonagall's voice. He turned back toward the table and saw her greet Lockhart. She was as tall and spindly as ever, with her slender frame sheathed in a Muggle dress with a large shawl around her shoulders. Her bun looked more severe without her pointy, crooked hat. Her eyes were large and wide as she finally looked at him.

"Severus," she said, studying his face, "We've missed you."

"Have you?" he sneered.

"I believe you've shown where your loyalties lie," she stated, her voice as smooth as velvet.

He looked away, not sure that he deserved even such an ambiguous compliment. Somewhere along the way, traits like loyalty and valor had become twisted with obligation and guilt into a splintered morality that he couldn't exactly defend. So he was silent.

McGonagall looked like she wanted to say something further, but she was cut off by a strangled squeal from across the room. A blur of pink and blonde came dashing around tables, nearly knocking over drinks as she headed for Lockhart. Reaching him, she pumped his hand in greeting and gave a dazzling smile.

"It's an honor, Mr. Lockhart," Glinda purred, "I've read the back covers of all your books!"

Lockhart stared back at her, soaking in her adoration without reacting to her words.

Severus rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. In his opinion, she was far too old to be blathering like a star-struck school girl. He knew exactly when Glinda had gone through school, and the lines around her eyes belied her youthful giggles. She was insufferable, and he wanted to strangle her to make the noise stop. Then, for just a moment, as Lockhart indulged the curvaceous blonde by comparing the color of his suit with her cleavage-baring Muggle dress, Severus thought they might be absurdly perfect for one another. He imagined them traveling throughout the magical world, bragging about all the good they'd done and signing everything that didn't move. The idea almost made him smile. Almost. The thought was lost, however, when he realized that _she_ was crossing the room toward them.

Severus watched her walk as she wove between the tables, her movements more serpent-like than womanly. She wore a long, plain black dress that flowed and clung to her angular frame. She was all legs and arms, with severe features that were too dramatic to be pretty. He guessed she was twenty years out of school, like Glinda, but she wore her age well. Her dark hair was tangled and half up, with pieces falling in her eyes. Glossy waves had no significance to Elphaba. He'd noticed she tended to ignore herself, parading around with unwashed hair and dark eyes from lack of sleep. She often scowled into books or fixed those around her with cold smirk.

Suddenly, McGonagall's words from several weeks previous came back to him, _I wonder why you find her so off-putting, Professor Snape? For all practical purposes, she is your reflection. Metaphorically, of course._

The comment still made him burn with angry frustration. He was one of the most powerful wizards the world had seen. And Elphaba could barely brew a proper Sleeping Draught. She could occasionally cast a decent spell, but only with a great emotional meltdown at the same time. She tended to spew magic, rather than control it. She had all the obnoxious confidence of the Granger girl, but without the skill. For someone who had a reputation for being such a terrifying witch, he found her extremely lacking. Yet, here she was, again.

They sat down around the table, then, with McGonagall at the head and Lockhart to her right. Glinda sat next to him, still giggling. McGonagall's new assistant, a wiry boy with large teeth and mussed hair sat at the other end, beside Glinda. Severus took the seat opposite Glinda and Elphaba, who had little choice, sat next to Severus. He took a long drink of his bourbon and leaned back in the chair again, already tired of this whole affair.

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><p>Elphaba, on the other hand, was eager. She felt a hum in her body that had been gone for quite some time. She was no longer a young school girl, or even a fire-setting member of the Resistance in Oz, but she felt a sense of purpose again. She felt the drive to do <em>something<em> again. So she listened as McGonagall laid out a proposition.

"I've asked you here tonight," McGonagall was saying, "to propose that Miss Thropp work directly with you, Professor Snape, to perfect her skills in Potions, so she might take your former position. She has passed the exams in other subjects I've given her with excellent marks and we could use someone like her in restoring the school to its former position," she paused, "I would ask you to return, Professor, but I respect your desire to be reclusive, if you wish."

Snape gave her a hard glare, choosing not to address his continued separation from society as a whole.

When no one responded, McGonagall stated, "We felt the two of you would be a good match, together."

Snape looked both horrified and incredulous, and Elphaba snorted. After a moment, she said, "We're a good match? That sounds like we've been paired by one of those websites that Muggles use to find partners for lonely people."

Glinda giggled again, because the presence of Lockhart seemed to have stripped her of all other sounds.

"And I can only imagine the advertisement that brought us together," Elphaba snapped, her voice rich with sarcasm, "'Tall, green and strange seeks even taller, darker and creepy partner. Enjoys isolation, dungeons, and constant regret. Morally ambiguous is a must. Bonus if everyone in your life thinks you're dead and is pretty much okay with it.'"

Snape met her eyes and, for just a moment, looked as though he might smile. In his eyes, which were usually so cold, Elphaba saw something that might be appreciation, if only for her sharp tongue.

Taking a deep breath, McGonagall plowed ahead, saying, "I have no interest in playing matchmaker, Miss Elphaba. My only intention is restoring my school with the best possible people."

His expression cold again, Snape raised an eyebrow and said, "If that's true, you might need to reconsider. She can barely brew anything. The last potion she tried to mix cost me a desk."

Elphaba felt her temper boil as she met his dark eyes and snapped, "You forget I didn't have the luxury of practical training as a girl. I grew up in a cabin in the woods, thanks to my parents. And I only spent a year at Shiz."

"This may be true," McGonagall went on, "but you have mastered the foundational theories, and you will learn."

Snape said nothing.

"I have mastered almost every Wizarding theory that exists," Lockhart piped up and Glinda nearly swooned.

McGonagall looked over at him as though he were an unavoidable itch that would have to scratched and said, "Yes, well, that brings me to my other point. I thought you might take on the position of Charms Professor, Mr. Lockhart. I think you can handle that. That is, if you can keep from losing your memory again."

Lockhart looked slightly less pompous as he nodded.

"I had someone else in mind," McGonagall went on, "but she's not inclined to give up her other position. And then there are issues of her…reputation."

In a rare moment, McGonagall looked flustered and glanced away.

Elphaba, suddenly feeling defensive of her new friend, piped up, "Mary's damn good and you know it. And the way she sees it, she already has a position with you. If there's a Muggle-born witch or wizard child out there anywhere, she will find them. So what does it matter what she does otherwise?"

Snape made a noise low in his throat and Elphaba cut him a glare.

McGonagall's assistant, who was called Piers, couldn't resist a snicker. From what Elphaba had seen, Piers had a great ability to constantly put his large feet in his large mouth. He seemed to feed on gossip and then repeat it back whenever he had a captive audience. Elphaba didn't know how McGonagall could stand him, but she guessed it had something to do with Piers being incredibly good at finding out what was going on with her students.

True to his prior record, Piers saw that they had all turned to look at him and blurted out, "I heard that Mary shags anyone with a John Thomas," he paused, met Snape's eyes and said, "Isn't that right, Professor Snape?"

Elphaba had heard the rumors. Mary was tight-lipped about her excursions when she wasn't working, but Elphaba had her ideas. She'd also heard the slivers of gossip about her new friend and Professor Snape, but she'd found the idea of it ludicrous. He seemed too staunchly disassociated with humans. So she expected a firm denial of Piers implication, possibly followed by a condescending insult from the former Potions Professor. Instead, however, Elphaba saw Snape's eyes flicker away and his throat move in a nervous swallow.

All he said was, "Honestly," and rolled his eyes again.

McGonagall gave him a long look, and Elphaba was suddenly positive that he had had it off with Mary. It shocked her more than she expected, because the idea of him being human enough to have any sort of sexual drive seemed ludicrous. He was so very asexual. He was sullen and pale and surly. He constantly insulted her and glowered at her work. He made Elphaba feel like she was much younger and much less important than him, and she was neither. She was the Wicked Witch of the West, once. And she was nearly his age. He was too old to be shagging women for sport. He was too strange and fearsome. His hands were too rough from caustic potions. His hair was too dark and fell too often into his impossibly dark eyes. He was too weathered, his features too severe. His mouth smirked too perfectly.

Suddenly, Elphaba let her vivid imagination go too far. She'd looked at him too long, and she suddenly imagined him and Mary in a dark corner together. Snape had her pinned against the wall, his face open in intentional ecstasy. Mary had her hands in all of his dark hair and he had her skirt rucked up. And then, in Elphaba's imagination, it wasn't Mary. It was her.

As quickly as the image formed, Elphaba shook it off. She felt a rush of disgust run through her. She was shocked at her own thoughts. She wished Piers had kept his mouth shut. The idea of Snape doing anything other than teaching her how to brew potions made her stomach turn. Elphaba wanted the image out of her head, so she focused on him as he was, with his long legs splayed open and his chest leaned forward on the table. His chin was on his hands, elbows on the table, and he was smirking at Gilderoy.

In that moment, as McGonagall tried to shift the conversation away from Mary, Elphaba felt the burn of something unmistakable in her chest. Staring at Severus Snape and knowing he'd been with Mary, she felt fierce, searing jealousy. It shocked her, because she'd felt nothing until now but loathing. She'd found him barely tolerable. He drove her to madness, but something in the idea of him bedding Mary made her stomach turn with something more than revulsion.

"Miss Elphaba?"

He was looking at her, and hearing her name is his deep, sultry baritone was enough to cement her realization that some part of her was twisted enough to want him. In the next moment, the revulsion kicked back in. Elphaba couldn't believe where she'd let her mind wander. She was done with romance, and she was certainly not going to sully Fiyero's memory by opening her legs for Severus Snape.

Standing abruptly, she addressed McGonagall, saying, "I will think on your propostion, Professor. And let you know."

Then Elphaba turned and fled the room, feeling Snape's eyes on her until she was safely out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**I decided to post another sample of this, because I needed to get it out of my head. This is still not meant to be a linear story yet. This is just another piece that occurs some time after the first chapter. I have not totally hammered out the plot of all this yet, so some details may change when I post the whole thing, eventually. But I wanted to write this anyway. Please let me know your thoughts. And enjoy.**

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><p>The group of first years fidgeted in their seats as they anxiously awaited the start of their first class after lunch. They buzzed with energy from too many biscuits in the great hall, and their attention spans were clearly wearing thin, as would happen with eleven year-olds. A pudgy boy with a brunette mop on his head was poking the spindly girl beside him with his wand. He was being rather careless, Elphaba noted from her position in the corner of the room, but it wasn't her place to stop him. She was here to observe, although she felt her skills were at the very least on par with Professor Putane, the dullest wizard she'd ever been forced to listen to. He made the Dark Arts seem so wholly uninteresting that she couldn't blame the students for not feeling they needed much of a defense. Elphaba could understand McGonagall's desire to keep things less than sensational, with what she'd been through the past few years, but Putane was about as inspiring as worm dung. He rivaled Professor Binns in his ability to render students comatose.<p>

Elphaba leaned back in her chair and studied her wand. It was growing on her. She'd never had much respect for the wand before. The idea of witchcraft, or sorcery as she knew it, was so misunderstood in Oz that people didn't just go around waving wands. Except for Glinda. Glinda could spew bubbles from her wand and then take off in one and no one doubted her goodness. Elphaba smiled a little to herself, unable to really hate Glinda. Her bubble-riding friend would love to see her now, so adept at spell casting she nearly itched to practice.

The door to the classroom opened, then, and Elphaba prepared herself for an hour of struggling to stay awake. She sat up straighter, however, when the figure that came through the door was not Persius Putane. In a flurry of black on black on black, Severus Snape strode up the center aisle. His long legs carried him swiftly and his nose was in the air as he made his entrance. For a man of such few words, he never failed to capture his audience. Whirling around at the head of the classroom, he scanned the room silently.

The students stared up at him, their fidgeting forgotten. The room was so quiet you could almost hear time itself passing. Elphaba flicked her eyes from Snape to the students. Their mouths were open. Their eyes were wide. Yet none asked a question. No one made a sound. Even Elphaba was afraid to move lest someone start throwing hexes out of sheer shock.

Finally, Snape said, "Page eighty-seven."

No one moved.

"Now," he growled.

A stocky boy with a great deal of freckles slowly raised his hand.

Snape consulted a parchment from the desk and asked, "Yes, Mr. Cornwell?"

"Are you…?" the boy seemed to lose his question.

Snape set down the parchment and linked his hands behind his back. Crossing to the young man, he looked down at him as one might consider a fly before killing it. After a moment, he said, "Yes, I am. And I am very much alive, in spite of myself. At McGonagall's request I'm going to attempt to teach you something in Professor Putane's absence. Do you find that agreeable, Mr. Cornwell?"

Elphaba watched the boy go ashen.

His shaky answer was, "Yes sir."

Snape strode back to the front and began lecturing on page eighty-seven. No one else spoke, and Elphaba couldn't blame them. As boring as Professor Putane could be, he at least made the students comfortable enough to fall asleep. Snape was downright terrifying. He seemed to loathe the very idea of students. He imparted his knowledge upon them as though he was bestowing a very valuable, yet unappreciated gift. It made Elphaba angry, because she didn't understand why brilliance had to go hand in hand with being an ass.

After several endless minutes, Snape finally remembered she was in the room. When his eyes fell on her, his mouth curled in a tiny smirk and he said, "Students, this is Miss Thropp. She's something of a student here, herself. McGonagall thinks she has promise, in spite of her age."

Elphaba was suddenly ready to hit him with a silencing curse.

Looking her over with his dark, calculating eyes, Snape went on, "Perhaps Miss Thropp could help us with a little practical demonstration."

The students, who were still in shock that Severus Snape was standing before them, barely nodded. Snape motioned for Elphaba to join him at the head of the classroom.

Elphaba expertly raised an eyebrow. Without budging from her chair, she asked dryly, "Do you want me to curse you so they can see how it's done?"

Snape chuckled and cocked his head, saying, "I doubt that would be possible, Miss Thropp."

His constant use of her proper name was gnawing at her nerves more than usual today. They were effectively the same age. Elphaba was no trembling first-year.

Sitting up straighter in the chair, she countered, "I've just finished _Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts_ and _The Advanced Book of Spells Volume Three._ That's well beyond this curriculum."

Snape narrowed his eyes and replied, "Being able to quote books does not make a competent witch, Miss Thropp."

Elphaba stood up, facing off with him across the room, and stated, "I believe I am _competent_ enough to educate these first-years, who are effectively more my students than yours as I've been with them nearly four months and you are here just for today…" She left the phrase open-ended, almost a question.

Snape dodged the question and said instead, "You are hardly their teacher, and I do not think I'll be letting you curse me, nor them. They haven't learned basic hexes yet. They must be taught the hexes before they can learn to defend against them."

"This is true," Elphaba held his gaze, "so perhaps you should let them try a few."

"They're first-years, Miss Thropp. Imagine the mess," Snape rolled his eyes perfectly and went on, "_You_ are here to observe, are you not? As in, to observe _my_ teaching. Or to assist. So I plan to demonstrate some basic hexes…on you."

Elphaba's eyes flashed as she asked, "Am I to defend myself?"

"No," he snipped, "you are merely the victim."

"I'll be no such thing."

"Then how do you suggest they learn?" his tone was condescending.

"Show them how to both cast and defend," Elphaba plowed on, "This is, in fact, _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts, correct?"

Snape scoffed at her.

Elphaba took a step closer to him, pulled out her wand and goaded him, "Were you not, at one time, very good at dueling? So why not show them your best? And I'll show you mine."

Snape stared her down while pulling himself up to his full height. He held his wand out as though she were a volatile potion he might need to eradicate. Elphaba whipped her black robes from around her shoulders and laid them over a chair. Straightening her clothes, she knew she could be formidable, too, in her own way. She wore dark purple, with a skirt that flowed to mid-calf in an uneven hem. Her shirt was long-sleeved and flowed past her hips, accenting her slim figure. She stuck out her chin, owning her own sharp features and jet-black hair. Age had made her frightening, when she wanted to be, just like him. She was thin, but almost his height in her boots. Elphaba held out her wand and faced off with him, waiting.

Snape stared at her, perhaps trying to deduce her motive. His eyes searched hers, and his expression was hard to read. Eventually, he said, "All right, Miss Thropp." Removing his own cloak, he straightened the cuffs on his perfectly fitted black coat and drew his wand, saying, "Give me your best."

The students' mouths were open again. They watched a known Death Eater face off with the greenest witch they'd ever seen, and no one moved. They all looked terrified and very slightly curious at the same time. For a moment, Elphaba wondered whether this was a good idea, and then she saw Snape prepare to cast a spell. She raised her wand, refusing to let him win.

As she expected, Snape bellowed, "_Expelliarmus_!"

At the same moment, Elphaba called out "_Protego_!"

As she'd hoped, the shield charm repelled Snape's spell and sent it back toward him. His wand skittered out of reach and his face flickered with surprise.

When he turned to find his wand, Elphaba took another step forward, casting, "_Obscuro_!"

Snape was suddenly blindfolded. In order to keep him from finding his wand by feeling alone, she cast a Jelly-Fingers curse, causing him to fumble without the ability to grasp anything. With a smug smile on her face, Elphaba continued to throw hexes and minor curses, more for her own enjoyment than any real harm. She felt she'd already demonstrated a rather well-used defense. After she'd run through the less harmful spells, Elphaba took a step back. Snape had stopped moving and lay prone on the floor. Feeling as though she'd won this round, Elphaba turned and smiled smugly at a dark-haired girl in the front row. She was about to put away her wand when she heard a shuffle behind her. By the time she turned around, Snape was already on his feet.

In the second before she could react, he called out, "_Incendio_!"

A swoosh of roaring, red-hot flame shot toward Elphaba. She stumbled backward, feeling the intense heat just before it extinguished itself.

In the next moment, Snape once again cast, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Elphaba felt her wand fly from her hand and land against the wall. Snape advanced on her, casting a repelling charm that sent her flying backward into the same wall.

Then, just as quickly, he barked, "_Incarcerous_!"

Elphaba found herself bound by invisible ropes. She stared up at Snape, her eyes flashing as she tried to move. He looked at her for a moment, a smile playing at his lips. Then, he whipped around and addressed the class, stating, "The first rule of dueling, whether for sport or against an enemy…never turn your back on your opponent."

Elphaba seethed, wanting to strangle him. She wanted to immobilize him and slap the smug look off of his face. She wanted to cast a stupefy spell and make him humiliate himself. And underneath it all, she wanted to wield that kind of power. She wanted to be respected, even feared. She realized she was jealous, and it made her want to hurt him more.

Just then, the bell rang to signal that class was over. The students still sat rigidly in their seats, though, afraid to move. Snape waved them out with his hand, rolling his eyes as they began to whisper about what they'd just seen.

He turned to Elphaba and stated, "_Finite_ _Incantatem_."

The binding charm released her and she could finally stand. Getting to her feet, Elphaba brushed herself off and retrieved her wand.

When the last student had excited the doorway, she pointed her wand at it and cast a quick spell to slam it shut. Snape turned to face her and she went toe to toe with him, lifting her head slightly to look into his dark eyes.

"You threw me against a wall!" she hollered at him.

"You blindfolded me," Snape returned flatly.

"You could have set me on fire!" Elphaba's voice rose even more.

Snape raised an eyebrow and returned, "You are the one who wanted to duel, Miss Thropp."

"To teach the students about hexes! Basic defense!" she countered shrilly.

"I do believe those were basic defenses," he argued.

"Fire, Professor Snape? You tried to light me on _fire_! Why not just go ahead and hit me with the Cruciatus Curse if you meant to hurt me that badly?"

Something changed in his countenance, and Snape roared back, "I would _never_ cast that spell on you!"

Elphaba stopped, her next retort dying on her lips. The usual smug superiority was gone from his face and his eyes were troubled. Elphaba was caught in them for a moment, wondering again what demons haunted him. In the quiet of the moment, she realized how close they were. She could smell the musty spices from the dungeons where he hid himself. She could feel his power, as though his flesh could not contain his magic. She wondered, for a second, if he could sense the wildness in her, as well. Then, she spun away from him, refusing to let go of her anger.

"You could have killed me, Professor," she raged on, "I simply wanted to be involved in teaching because I feel like I'm more than competent. I've been sitting here for months and I've gotten nothing but perfect marks on every exam I've been given. I would have been head of my class if I was an actual student. As it is, I'll qualify to teach in a few months. So you have no right to humiliate me in front of eleven year-olds!"

Snape was obviously trying to suppress a smile as he cut in, "Again, Miss Thropp, it was you who insisted on dueling."

"And you tried to kill me!"

He looked suddenly wounded as he shot back, "I said I would _never_ have tried to kill you!"

"And why not? You despise me. Why else would you throw fire at me and launch me into a wall?"

Snape whirled around and shouted, "Because I believe you are better than what you showed me!"

There was a very quiet minute as they stood there, staring at each other. Elphaba wasn't sure that she'd heard him right, because what he'd said was almost a compliment.

"You, Miss Thropp," he went on, "are the most foul-tempered, stubborn, insatiable, power-hungry, should-have-been-Slytherin I've ever known. Your skill is unparalleled, but you hold back. You bury your nose in books rather than honing your skill. You talk incessantly and you have no patience. You act rashly, but without real power. And if there's one thing I despise, it is unmet potential!"

Elphaba continued to stare at him, not sure if she should thank him or actually slap him. Another long, awkward silence ensued. Snape turned away from her again and appeared to study the wall. He ran a hand through his hair and Elphaba gripped her wand, wondering if he might test her further. Suddenly, he whirled around. Elphaba raised her wand, but he crossed the space between them before she could use it. In a second, he had seized her by the arms. Just as she started to yell, he kissed her hard and full on the mouth.

Elphaba was so shocked she froze, paralyzed. Then, her body flushed with sudden heat. She dropped her wand. She stopped thinking. The roar in her ears telling her how badly she needed the touch of another person, especially one who didn't fear her darkness, was deafening. She realized with absolute certainty that she'd been wanting him to touch her since they met. Finally reacting, she kissed him back. She threw her arms around him and fisted her hands into his hair, pushing him back into the desk. She opened her mouth to him and let him kiss her so deep she couldn't breathe. Snape lifted her, spun her around and set her on the desk, never breaking the kiss. One hand was behind her head, in her hair, and the other held her waist tight against him. Elphaba wrapped her legs around his, finding no amount of contact was enough. She gasped for breath between kisses, but refused to pull away. She suddenly needed him more than air. She was so full of searing need that she didn't give a damn if he took her on the desk. His hands found them hem of her shirt and worked beneath it, looking for skin. Her hands found his buttons and started to undo them. They had taken a step over the edge and they were falling. The descent was so swift and consuming that only one thing could stop them.

The door handle rattled as someone prepared to open the heavy classroom door.

Snape and Elphaba leapt apart. She hastily straightened her clothes and smoothed her hair. He did the same and took a few steps away, keeping his back to the door. He adjusted his well-fitted trousers and Elphaba knew he had to be concealing his obvious arousal. She turned back to the door, and there stood McGonagall.

Looking back and forth between them, she said, "Professor Snape, Miss Thropp. It is my understanding that there was dueling in this classroom?"

"We were demonstrating basic defense," Elphaba spoke up, trying not to betray how her lips still burned from kissing him.

McGonagall crossed the room in long, graceful strides to stand just in front of them.

"It was my idea," Elphaba went on when no one spoke.

Snape turned around then, obviously more in control, and stated, "But I allowed it."

McGonagall heaved a deep sigh and said, "While there is some merit in your methodology, we don't usually have such practical demonstrations for first-year students. Especially using fire and repelling charms. I believe you frightened some of them."

Forcing a smile, Elphaba said, "It won't happen again. I take responsibility for suggesting it."

Snape stood very still, looking cautiously from Elphaba to their Headmistress.

McGonagall studied both of them for a long time. She raked her discerning eyes over both Elphaba and Snape, and Elphaba wondered if she caught the disheveled state of her hair or the fact that Snape was reclosing the top three buttons of his coat. There was a spark in McGonagall's eyes but she betrayed nothing of what she was thinking. Finally, she said, "I understand it was quite a duel. I may not approve of your methods, but, given the two of you, I'm sure what transpired what a sight worth seeing."

"Miss Thropp was…sufficient in her skill," Snape finally spoke, his voice as smooth as dark chocolate once again.

Elphaba was shocked at the swiftness with which her feelings for him could change. A minute ago, she would have hiked up her skirts for him. Now, she wanted to throw him into a wall for calling her 'sufficient.' What happened to 'unparalleled skill' and all her potential? Or were his compliments merely the work of a gifted liar intending to ply her into kissing him?

Hopping down off the desk, Elphaba cut Snape a look and then addressed McGonagall, saying, "I assure you, it won't happen again. I clearly had a lapse in judgment today. Now, if it's okay, I have another class to observe?"

McGonagall gave her a curt nod, saying, "I suppose no harm was done."

Elphaba seized her cloak and wand and strode from the room, feeling Snape's eyes on her back and remembering his lips on her mouth. He hadn't hit her with real fire, but she felt burned all the same. She felt branded by him, marked the way the Dark Lord had once marked him. He'd kissed her in a way that changed her. Something of Severus Snape seemed to be flowing through her veins, now, and it made her angry. She didn't want to want him. She didn't want anyone that way. She was the mighty, solitary Wicked Witch of the West and she wasn't here to behave like a teenager. She was here to become the best witch she could be. She was here to find greatness, finally. Elphaba wouldn't let a foolish heart ruin her chances again.

She slammed from the building on her way to a Herbology seminar, not realizing that he was watching her from the classroom window. As his next class filed in, Snape watched her walk, his expression unreadable once again.


End file.
